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“Where are they? Where are they?”
Katsuki ran a hand through his hair as he fumbled through the drawers of the wooden roll top desk. They had to be there; he had to find them…
“Deku! Deku, dammit! Look out for that—”
Flashes of light, of green and black and red, shot through his memory, fierce and present as the last time he’d seen them for real. His heart clenched; his body lurched, and Katsuki nearly blew up the desk in his sudden desperation to find what he needed.
How long had it been since he looked at them last? How many years had gone by since he’d last opened them, since he’d last read the contents?
How many times had he thought, Not today, I’ll find them later?
But later was suddenly now.
And Katsuki was forced to confront his past, his memories, his love, his life.
He was forced to confront it all, even as it was slowly, steadily, being chipped away from him.
They’re hot on the trail of The Welder, a villain who can heat metal to melting and has been terrorizing banks and stores in Musutafu for weeks. He’d paired up with Disintegrate, the Concrete Villain, and together, they’ve been giving heroes and police alike headaches as they've remained elusive, unable to be caught.
Izuku’s smart, though. Too damn smart for his own good. He’s been trying to put together a profile on the two villains since their first robbery, and this time, he managed to get their location exactly right.
Except that when four heroes take two villains by surprise…
It’s fucking chaos.
There’s concrete, and hot metal, slinging everywhere. Mirko, the old bunny hag, is screaming at Katsuki to get the fuck out of the way, but he’s not the one she should be worried about. She may have one titanium leg, and two titanium arms, but she still puts up one hell of a fight and she’s never so afraid that she backs down.
Katsuki’s always liked that about her, but he’ll never admit it.
She’s got enough raw power, prosthetics or no, that she’s able to pound anything Disintegrate throws at her to dust. Shitty Hair’s on loan from Fat Gum, and he’s the same: he can withstand anything either of the villains sends in their direction, and that’s why Katsuki insisted on bringing him along for this job.
Izuku, though…
He’s relying on all of his quirks to get him through this safely. Katsuki can see Black Whip pulling him this way and that; he’s already tried his smoke screen, but the villains don’t need to see where they’re throwing concrete and hot metal for it to have an impact. He and Mirko are trying to get close, with Kirishima providing cover. Izuku’s supposed to be doing the same, but he’s getting way too close to the concrete bastard for Katsuki’s liking and Katsuki doesn’t know how to get him to stand down.
Katsuki never has known how to do that, though.
And, as much as it terrifies him, pretty much on a daily basis, it’s also one of the things about Izuku that he loves the most.
He just wishes the damn nerd would use his tenacity for something other than a death wish, though.
He dodges another slab, blasts it to fucking pieces, and pulls himself out of reach for a moment. He sees that Izuku’s back to whipping himself around, trying to distract the villains away from Mirko and Katsuki, so they can get close enough to either knock them out or restrain them. He’s not using Fa Jin, Katsuki notices, even though the nerd spent time building up his energy reserves before they encountered the villains; Katsuki doesn’t think he’s used it yet, so he can’t help but wonder why. It would be a good asset in this particular fight, as would Gearshift.
But, whatever, he thinks as he blasts another piece of concrete sent at him. He’s not Izuku’s keeper, even if he is his…
“Deku!” Katsuki screams suddenly, because yup, it looks like Izuku’s decided to use Fa Jin, the red sparks accentuating his body revealing his intentions. Izuku’s going in hard at The Welder, delivering several vicious kicks and knocking him over. But what he doesn’t see is that Disintegrate’s literally tearing down the building wall above them, and several large chunks are heading right for…
“Deku, dammit!” Katsuki explodes, his body already moving towards his partner, his love, his life, on its own. “Look out for that—”
Deku looks up, and the last thing Katsuki sees is green, and black…
And red.
They said he would never recover, that he would never remember. That he’d live a life of quiet ignorance, never knowing who he was or what he’d once been capable of.
They had also said he’d never walk again, talk again, breathe again on his own.
And yet, Katsuki was proud to say that Izuku had beaten the odds and come back, despite the difficulties, despite the setbacks, despite the fact that their friends had, one by one, drifted away.
Soon, it was just his mother and Katsuki left. And still, there was no flash of recognition, no spark in those brilliant green eyes. Once, they had held Katsuki’s world, but now, they were mere empty shells.
But still, Katsuki had held on, because he knew:
The man he loved was in there.
The man he loved would always come back to him.
Because the man he loved was stubborn as shit and would always find a way.
So when the doctors told him there was nothing more they could do, that the memories were there, but most likely locked away for eternity, Katsuki had called them all useless extras and stormed out of the room.
No one knew Midoriya Izuku like Bakugō Katsuki.
No one had faith in Midoriya Izuku like Bakugō Katsuki.
Days became months, which in turn became years, and still, there was no acknowledgement, no recognition of Katsuki other than the nice man who visited Izuku every day and played Battleship with him. There was no acknowledgement of their past; no acknowledgement of their present; no acknowledgement of their prospective future.
Together. It should have been together.
There were days when Katsuki did blow things up: in a forest, on a mountain, far from the penetrating eyes of the press. He was already criticized enough as it was for giving up his career to care for his partner, who didn’t even remember him; he didn’t need people to criticize him for suffering, too.
Katsuki grunted, and tore through the desk drawers.
The phone call had come just thirty minutes before.
“Katsuki-kun?” Midoriya Inko had said, her voice tentative. “He…he called me Okaasan.”
That was all Katsuki needed to hear. He’d immediately gone to his study—to their study—and proceeded to tear it apart, bit by bit, looking for the things that he was sure would spark Izuku’s memory. He’d been saving these for such a moment: he didn’t want to waste them; he didn’t want such important items to be for naught.
He dug through the drawers—paperwork, old folders, Izuku’s UA transcripts—tossing papers aside, searching, searching, searching.
He was sure he’d kept them; he was sure they were still there. If only…
And then, his hand closed around a fat collection of papers, tied together, and Katsuki knew.
He yanked them from the back of the drawer: tied together, with clumsy string knotted by clumsy teenage hands, were a stack of letters.
Letters from Izuku to Katsuki. And, letters from Katsuki to Izuku.
They’d written them in class, at night when they were alone in their dorms, on internships and during work studies. They’d written them when things between them were fresh, and scary, and passionate, and new.
They’d written them so that they could be together, even when physical distance separated them: whether it was half a meter or a thousand kilometers.
Katsuki fought back the tears that had threatened to fall for years. He couldn’t: not yet, not when he was so close, when they were so close.
When everything they had once wanted was finally in sight.
Katsuki closed his hand around the letters, clutched him to his heart, and dashed out the door.
The convalescent home was large, and sprawling, and pristine. Katsuki hated it there, and if Izuku was himself, he would have hated it, too. Too quiet, too clean, too perfect.
His Izuku would have been trying to unintentionally start trouble, probably by sneaking out or overdoing his PT or some shit like that.
But this Izuku was polite. Rule-oriented. Obedient.
Katsuki loved him anyway.
He tore into the lobby; when the receptionist said, “Oh, Bakugō-san, he’s not in his…” Katsuki ignored her, and turned down the hall towards the solarium, which was where they typically spent their afternoons. He pushed past orderlies, therapists, nurses, and patients; he was driven by a force he had never really laid claim to, but one that he knew was as much a part of him as it was a part of Izuku.
Fate.
He shoved the doors to the solarium open, glass trembling in the frame. His eyes darted about, searching for the person he’d come to see, looking for…
Izuku.
Izuku, all in white, his hair radiant and curly against the linen shirt he wore.
His face, furrowed in concentration, as he concentrated on the game board in front of him.
His eyes, bright and thoughtful and inquisitive.
And, his voice.
“Okaasan!” he exclaimed, disappointment lacing his tone. “You sunk my battleship!”
Katsuki ignored Inko’s reply; he’d needed to hear Izuku acknowledge her himself, to hear him say one of the two words they’d been waiting five years for.
And now that he’d heard it, Katsuki leapt into action.
“Izuku,” he croaked, crossing the room in just a few strides.
Izuku turned to stare at him, eyes blinking in confusion. “Oh, Katsuki!” he said brightly. “I didn’t realize you’d be back today.” He looked at Inko. “This is my mother, Katsuki; do you know her?”
Inko shot Katsuki an apologetic, guilty look, but Katsuki just smiled. “I’ve met her once or twice, nerd,” he said, dropping to his knees beside Izuku’s chair. He reached into his pocket. “Here,” he added, pulling the envelopes out of his coat, “I brought you something.”
He heard Inko’s gasp, but chose to ignore it.
Because this was his time, and it was now or never.
“What are these?” Izuku asked, his voice hushed as his fingers closed around the yellowed envelopes.
“Just…just open them,” Katsuki replied, his voice equally still.
Izuku hummed. “Sure,” he replied, but his hands stalled as they untied the bundle and slid out the first letter. He gazed at the inscription on the front. “This is for me,” he observed, lingering over Katsuki’s scrawl on the front.
Despite his hammering heart, Katsuki chuckled. “If it’s for you,” he said, “you should open it.”
Inko got to her feet. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” she said; Katsuki nodded his thanks as she left.
Still moving oh so slowly, Izuku worked his fingers under the flap. He pulled out the letter; it was yellowed and faded, and it was hard to read anything at all.
But still, Izuku’s eyes widened as he read.
“Hey, Nerd,” Izuku read aloud, then blushed. His eyes roamed over the page, mouth moving as he read silently. Katsuki watched him intently, completely focused on Izuku’s every reaction, looking for something, anything, to reveal what he was thinking.
“What’s this?” Katsuki snaps as Izuku stands in front of him, barring his exit from the classroom, his stupid green eyes wide and hopeful. He’s holding a—piece of paper?—out in front of—
No, not a piece of paper.
An envelope. One with his name scrawled across the front in Izuku’s chicken scratch kanji.
“I—I thought that—” Izuku’s blushing now, and what the fuck it’s so cute, Katsuki wants to die right here, but he can’t, not with Shitty Hair and Pikachu hovering nearby, hoping to overhear something that would give away the true nature of Katsuki and Izuku’s relationship, which everyone wonders about, but no one really understands.
Fuck, Katsuki doesn’t really understand it himself, either.
“You thought what?” Katsuki says, reaching out and grabbing the envelope. He goes to tear it open, but Izuku gives a little cry, and Katsuki looks up.
“Not—” Izuku starts, then lowers his voice. “Not here,” he hisses, and looks over Katsuki’s shoulder. Katsuki turns slightly, and sees Kirishima and Kaminari, whistling away as they pretend to pack up.
Obvious bastards.
Katsuki looks back at Izuku; he’s still blushing.
Oh. It’s that kind of letter. He grins.
“Sure, Nerd,” he says, tucking the letter away in his bag. “Thanks.” He goes to step around Izuku, to leave the room, when Izuku touches him on the biceps, sending shockwaves down Katsuki’s spine.
“Have—a good break, Kacchan,” he murmurs, and Katsuki’s heart flutters.
“Y—yeah, ‘Zuku,” he says quietly. “You, too.”
That night, under the guise of going to bed early (which he really does do, no matter what his hag of a mother believes), Katsuki lays in bed, Izuku’s envelope still in hand. Slowly, he slides one finger under the sealed flap, working it open, and then takes out the letter.
The handwriting is equally as awful as that on the envelope, but Katsuki can still read it easily. Fuck, he’s one of the few people who probably can read Izuku’s writing—to him, it’s as clear as if it were his own.
Dear Kacchan,
This is the first time we’ll have been apart since it all happened. Did you know that? I can’t believe that we’re back here, after everything. It’s sort of silly, right? Like, what else could they teach us?
Anyway, I guess that’s neither here nor there. Because at the end of the day, we still need a high school diploma, so why not earn it at UA?
It’s going to be hard, not seeing you every day. I don’t like being apart from you. Not anymore. I wonder if you feel the same about me?
I’ll be thinking of you. I hope you have a good break with your family. Don’t let your mother drive you too insane. If you need someone to be a buffer, you can always call me, right? Even though I know that you won’t have time (and that’s okay! I know that you are busy and your parents are flying you to Milan for the New Year…it must be so exciting! I wish I could go to Milan. Someday!).
In the meantime, I’ll be thinking of you, dreaming of you, wishing I was waking up with you next to me, still asleep, still snoring. (You totally do, by the way! And you can’t deny it here! *kiss*)
See you back at school in the new year!
I love you and miss you already,
Izuku.
Katsuki reads the letter, over and over and over, then clutches it to his chest and takes several great, heaving breaths, trying to steady himself.
He hasn’t really thought about life without Izuku. Not until this moment. He hasn’t thought about what it means to wake up without him nearby, to sit behind him in class, to beat the shit out of him in sparring, to hear his stupid, sweet little nerd voice all day.
Katsuki closes his eyes, settles his breathing. He leans over to his bedside table and opens the drawer.
And, he takes out a pencil and a notepad.
When they return to school, Katsuki walks past Izuku, who’s jabbering away with Round Face. Katsuki hears her say something about spending the holidays skiing with her family, and is it just him, or is her face redder than usual? Probably didn’t use sunscreen like she should have, tch.
“Oh, Kacchan!” Izuku chirps as Katsuki slides into his desk chair. “How was your break? How was Milan?”
“Fucking sucked ass,” Katsuki grumbles. He turns away from Izuku. “Oi,” he barks, “Shitty Hair! Lemme see your notes for the assignment we had to finish for today. I wanna make sure you didn’t fuck it up.”
He sees Izuku’s face fall, just a bit, but he can’t…he can’t give in, not yet, not now, not like this.
Instead, it’s in the middle of Present Mic’s English lesson that he makes his move.
“Oi,” he mutters, leaning forward just enough to catch Izuku’s attention, “here.” He slides a note, carefully folded and with Izuku’s name scrawled on it, over Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku jumps a little, but reaches up and takes the note from Katsuki’s hand. Their fingers brush, and Katsuki grips Izuku’s just for a moment, before letting go.
He has another note for Izuku during Cementoss’ lesson.
And another during Ectoplasm’s pop quiz.
And yet another after training.
At the end of the day, Katsuki’s given him seven notes—one for nearly every day that they were apart. And by the look on Izuku’s face, those notes tell Izuku all he needs to know.
“Kacchan,” Izuku says while they’re packing up their desks at the end of the day, “here.”
He drops a note on Katsuki’s desk, then turns, and leaves.
Katsuki picks up the note, folded haphazardly, the same nearly unreadable letters written on the front, and smiles.
It was several minutes—several long, agonizing minutes—before Izuku set the first letter on the table, and opened the next. That one he read just as intensely, eyes widening over every faded word on the page. Meanwhile Katsuki tried to read Izuku, to discern his feelings, his response.
One after another, Izuku took out each letter—delicately, tenderly, almost lovingly. He read them, several times each, before moving onto the next. And when he was done, he read them all, one more time, in order.
While he did so, Katsuki sat, barely moving, barely breathing, wondering if this would be the day Izuku remembered his mother, and remembered Katsuki, too.
Finally, finally, Izuku put down the letters. He placed his hand atop the pile, and let loose a long, shuddering breath.
Katsuki wanted to say something, anything , to try and understand Izuku’s thinking, to get a read on his thoughts. But he was afraid; the air between them hung crystalline, and if Katsuki made the wrong move, everything would shatter.
It was Izuku who spoke first. “That was…those letters were something,” he breathed.
Katsuki wanted to reply, but when he opened his mouth, he found that his throat was dry.
“Yeah,” he rasped, “something.”
“We—we really wrote all those letters and notes to each other?” Izuku asked.
Katsuki had to fight back a blush. “Yeah,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair, “we really did.”
Izuku was quiet for another moment, running his hands over the letters again, tracing the letters with his scarred fingers. Katsuki held his breath, let Izuku take the lead, let him…
Then, Izuku looked up, catching Katsuki’s gaze suddenly. “You know,” Izuku said thoughtfully, and were his eyes twinkling? “The letters were nice, but I really have to wonder…
“Wasn’t I a little old to be calling you Kacchan?”
Katsuki blinked. What…what did he…
“Although,” Izuku mused, now leaning forward and cupping Katsuki’s cheek with one hand, “I don’t know how you could ever be anything but ‘Kacchan’ to me.”
Artwork Commission by kalcia
Katsuki’s breath was sharp, and Izuku smiled.
“Hi,” he whispered. “I don’t…I don’t remember it all, but…
“It’s good to see you again, Kacchan.”
Katsuki let out a choked sob; for the first time in years, the air shot out of his lungs, and he allowed himself to cry.
Which he did: in great, heaving, ugly gulps, the tears coursing down his cheeks and over Izuku’s hand.
He cried for the years they had, and the years they lost.
He cried for years ahead, which would be marred by both triumph and pain.
And, he cried for Izuku, and for himself: for the love they had shared, and for the love they would get to rebuild, together.
Izuku cried, too, silent tears streaming down his face as he leaned in, even more closely, and tucked their foreheads together.
“Okaeri,” Katsuki gasped.
Izuku smiled, and pressed his lips to Katsuki’s. “Tadaima,” he murmured. “Thank you for waiting for me.”
Katsuki wrapped his arms around Izuku and pulled him close. “For you,” he breathed, “I would have waited forever.”
Once upon a time, Bakugō Katsuki waited for no one. He always moved at his own pace, as fast as he wanted, and all the heavens and hells be damned if they thought he would slow down for anyone or anything.
Because he was going to forge ahead, make his own way in the world, even if that meant leaving those he loved behind.
But always, in the back of his mind, there was that little voice.
“Kacchan! Kacchan! Wait for me!”
Once upon a time, Bakugō Katsuki had ignored Midoriya Izuku. He’d left Izuku behind, refusing to wait, refusing to help, refusing to allow anyone, even Izuku, to slow him down.
Because, he’d thought then, if he was going to be the best, he had to do it by moving forward, as quickly as he could.
But Midoriya Izuku caught up to him anyway.
And blew right past him.
Soon, Katsuki was the one doing the chasing, instead of the one being chased.
And he had hated it.
It was unfair, he’d thought back then, that Izuku got a free pass for something Katsuki worked hard for his entire life. It was unfair, he’d silently raged, that Izuku be allowed something that nature had denied him, no matter how badly Izuku wanted it to be true.
It was unfair, he’d quietly cried, that he was not chosen, that instead, he was the one saddled with the burden of this secret, something he hadn’t wanted, but something he’d been forced to accept.
But, as much as Katsuki tried to fight it, he also began to see the burden that Izuku had to bear: for him, for them, for everyone in the world. He began to see the toll it was taking, the pain behind the smile, the silent suffering that no one else could see but him. The emptiness that haunted Izuku’s eyes sometimes. The winces when he landed a punch just shy of accurately. The quiet resolve that, at the end of the day, it would be him who would be asked to lay down his life.
And somewhere, along the way, Katsuki began to understand that it was he who was weak, that it was him, Bakugō Katsuki, who had to find peace within himself, in order to be the hero that he wanted to be.
Because maybe he wasn’t the recipient of One for All, but he was still fucking badass, and he could still be the Number One hero.
He didn’t count on falling in love with Izuku.
He didn’t count on wanting to spend the rest of his life with Izuku.
And, he didn’t count on his desire to give everything up for Izuku, over and over, would also mean that he’d give up hero work, too.
But now, when he visited Izuku, when he saw the way that Izuku’s eyes would light up when he came into the room…
When he heard the “Kacchan, hello!”—two words he never thought he’d hear again in the same sentence—
Katsuki felt a sense of warmth flow through him that no amount of hero work could ever give him.
And when he took Izuku home, back to their apartment, the one they’d shared before everything had gone wrong, that sense of warmth grew more, and more.
The doctors had prepared him. “He probably won’t remember the apartment,” they said. “Don’t force him to remember. Hopefully it will happen on its own time.”
Katsuki listened. It was Izuku who never did.
So, he gave Izuku a tour, and the doctors were right: he didn’t remember, not everything. But then, he asked, “Where’s my limited edition Silver Age All Might figure, Kacchan?” and Katsuki burst out laughing, and crying, because of fucking course the nerd would ask about that!
“I moved a lot of your merch into storage, ‘Zuku,” he admitted. “We’ll get it out tomorrow, I promise.”
Having Izuku’s things back in the apartment, it turned out, did wonders for his memory. He was still missing chunks of time, but he remembered every single piece of All Might merchandise he’d ever acquired, and how he’d acquired it, right down to the banner from Nighteye’s office.
The healing process took time, and wasn’t linear. Some days were better than others.
But Katsuki had learned to slow down, to wait, to allow Izuku to follow, to catch up, to come to him as he was ready. He never pushed; he never asked for more than what Izuku could give.
Bakugō Katsuki had learned patience, and he had learned love.
And for those things, he was rewarded: the first time Izuku kissed him, three months after remembering him, it was different, yes, but in Katsuki’s mind, it was the best kiss they’d ever had: a little bit timid, a lot soft, and Katsuki lost his heart and his soul to Izuku all over again.
Three months after that, Izuku asked if Katsuki could sleep in the bed with him again. Another three months after that, they made love for the first time in years. Katsuki cried; Izuku held him afterwards, stroked his hair, whispered comforting, affirming words in his ear.
Once again, it was Izuku who was strong, and it was Katsuki who was weak.
But he had his Izuku, and he didn’t really care if he seemed weak.
Because for Izuku, he’d gladly be weak, if it meant they could be together like this.
“Kacchan?” Katsuki looked up from his morning coffee; Izuku was playing with his eggs, staring at him, a small frown on his cute little nerdy face. “Can I ask you something?”
Katsuki set down his coffee. “Sure, ‘Zuku,” he replied. “You know you can ask me anything.”
“Oh!” Izuku blushed; it was still so fucking cute, and Katsuki would still kill anyone who suggested he thought so. “Well, ummm…” Izuku poked at his eggs again. “You know…” He gave his eggs another stab.
“Out with it, Nerd,” Katsuki snapped. “I’m not gettin’ any younger sittin’ here while you babble.”
“Right!” Izuku dropped his fork; it hit the plate with a clatter. “I just wondered…” His eyes darted around the room, unable to meet Katsuki’s gaze. “Why—why aren’t you—”
“Why aren’t I what, ‘Zuku?” Katsuki asked. He could feel the nervousness vibrating off Izuku now, and instead of it being annoying, it was making him worried. What could…
“Why aren’t you going back to your work?” Izuku blurted out, and Katsuki nearly knocked over his coffee in shock. “I—I mean…” Izuku fumbled. “Why aren’t you—”
“You wanna know why I didn’t run back to Mirko the second you remembered shit?” Katsuki asked. Izuku flushed, and nodded.
“It’s just that…you always wanted to be the Number One hero…” Izuku said slowly, “and now that I’m…well, me, or close to it, anyway, you have the chance to do it, but you’re here, making me eggs, and taking me to PT and OT, and…”
Ah. So that was the nerd’s problem.
Katsuki chuckled. He got up, circled the table, and tugged at Izuku’s chair. Izuku yelped, but Katsuki just pulled, and pulled, dragging Izuku back around to his side of the table, where he sat back down, and then drew Izuku out of his own chair and into Katsuki’s lap.
“Kacchan,” Izuku murmured, “what are you…”
Katsuki kissed him. He kissed him long, and deep, and slow. He kissed him chastely, sweetly, with all the love that had been inside of him for all of the years, with all of the pain that had been there, too. He kissed him, drawing from the tears of the past, the peace of the present, and the hope of the future.
Katsuki kissed him, kissed him, kissed him.
“Don’t you think,” he breathed, still pressing tiny kisses to Izuku’s lips, “that if I wanted to be the Number One Hero, I’d be out there, kicking ass and taking names?”
“I—” Izuku said.
“And don’t you think,” Katsuki continued, kissing Izuku’s nose, kissing each one of his freckles, “that if I wanted to run my own agency, I’d be out there, barking orders and making all my fucking interns cry?”
Izuku giggled. “You’d be the cause of so many breakdowns,” he agreed.
“Exactly.” Katsuki kissed him again. “Now,” he whispered, kissing Izuku’s chin, his jaw, “don’t you also think that, if there was something really fucking important I had to do—more important than hero work, more important than making dumb extras cry, more important than showing up that damn Icy Hot—don’t you think that’s what I would be doing, instead of all of that?”
Izuku’s eyes grew wide. “Kacchan,” he said, “I don’t think that—”
“Well,” Katsuki said, “I’m glad you’re not thinking that, because if you were, you’d be thinking wrong.” He pressed their lips together again, felt Izuku melt under his touch. “The day you can come back as a hero,” Katsuki murmured, “is the day that I do, too. And not one fucking second before.”
“But your place,” Izuku protested, albeit feebly—Katsuki was getting to him, thank fuck, “your place is…”
“My place is wherever the fuck you are, Nerd,” Katsuki said fiercely. “It was by your side on the field; it was by your side in the hospital; it was by your side in that fucking rehab center. It’s by your side here, in our home. And, if you ever can—if you ever wanted to— go back out there, then yeah, that’s where my place will be, too. But don’t you dare think for one fucking second I’m ever letting you out of my sight ever again, because I’m not.” Katsuki’s breath heaved; he realized he was crying, a-fucking-gain. “I’m not,” he emphasized, and it wasn’t until Izuku’s hand cupped his cheek that he could take a normal breath.
Izuku turned Katsuki slowly, so that he was staring into Izuku’s eyes, which were shining with a fierce determination unlike anything Katsuki had ever seen from him in a long, long time. “Well, then,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face, “I guess I know what I need to do next, don’t I?”
Katsuki’s mouth dropped open; Izuku kissed his bottom lip, and Katsuki laughed out loud. “You little shit,” he acquiesced. “All right. I’m not gonna push you, Nerd, but let’s see what you can do. After all,” he added, kissing Izuku’s nose and feeling lighter than he had in a long time, “the world is waiting.”
And so am I.